


The Higher Education of Brienne of Tarth

by BrienneofThrace



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Love/Hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrienneofThrace/pseuds/BrienneofThrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brienne thought misery was supposed to end after high school.<br/>And perhaps it would have...if she hadn't ended up going to the same college as Jaime Goddamn Lannister.<br/>A Jaime/Brienne modern-day college AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Higher Education of Brienne of Tarth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [divine_twig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/divine_twig/gifts).



> So, yesterday I posted a little meme of tumblr saying asking for people to request an AU scenario for a pairing so I could write them a drabble about it. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this 7,000 word 'drabble', Ellen.

                            

Brienne decides that someone up there _has_ to be screwing with her. There’s no other way that this vile, arrogant human being could end up in _so many_ of her classes.

There’s no other way two people who could barely stand to be in the same room as one another could end up being forced to work together on _so many_ assignments.

This was _college_ , for God’s sake.

She thought this forced collaboration stuff was supposed to end in high school.

Clearly, there had been some malicious divine intervention at work here.

There’s no other way she would be forced to endure such cruel taunts and japes on a regular basis at this stage of her life, the kind of  rude and immature verbal attacks she thought she’d heard the end of with her high school graduation.

By her junior year of college, she realizes she hasn’t gone a single semester without having that vicious jerk in at least one of her courses.

Though she’d never done anything more offensive than slightly glaring at him when he talked over the professor, it seemed as though from day one, Jaime Lannister was determined to make her life a frustrating, confusing mess and someone up there seemed to be going out of their way to provide him with opportunities to do so. 

****____________** **

In Comparative Literature during her freshman year, they get randomly paired up for a presentation.

Jaime misses every single one of their scheduled appointments, and she ends up doing all the work herself.

On the day of their presentation, Brienne is filled with disgust at what a doormat she is, because when he finally strolls in the door, she gives him a stack of note cards with a deep analysis of Edgar Allen Poe’s greatest works and a brief run through of what she came up with.

Even though he saunters into the lecture hall two minutes before they’re supposed to get up in front of the class, the golden beauty doesn’t look _remotely_ stressed about having to get up in front of a hundred students. Meanwhile, her heart is pounding and her palms are sweaty and she wants more than anything to just sink into the floor. Making her way to the front of the crowded room is total agony for her. Jaime strides down the aisle like it doesn't mean a thing. 

Of course, Jaime reads the notes she prepared for him beautifully, even ad-libing in a few charming jokes, while Brienne stammers through the notes _she wrote_ and drops her index cards on the floor. She scrambles to pick them up, enduring the stifled giggles of their classmates and his arrogant smirk.

****_______** **

In Psych 101, he sits a row behind her and obnoxiously psychoanalyzes her during every class. Most of his assessments are intentionally ridiculous (“Ah, gender identity disorder! This explains _so much_ about you and your clothing choices, Tarth!).

But some are so shockingly and cruelly accurate that she has to stare determinedly ahead so he won’t see the tears springing to her eyes and has to grit her teeth to keep them from falling.

****______** **

In Chem Lab during sophomore year, he blows things up on purpose.

When the T.A. turns around in horror to demand an explanation, Jaime shakes his head gravely and says “Forgive us. The poor girl can’t help having such enormous, clumsy hands!” and Brienne has to breathe deeply and count to ten in order to avoid plunging a test tube into his neck.

****___________** **

The semester after that is Intro to Moral Philosophy, which is largely about class discussions.

Brienne really loves the course, but rarely participates. She’s never been great at forming eloquent words on the spot. She’s an attentive listener and takes it all in. But she never joins in, because she feels slow and awkward whenever she talks in front of a large group, and she likes to take her time to plan what she says.

But when Jaime, who usually sits there looking haughty and bored,  randomly pipes up one day mid-semester and says something that is just so _blatantly wrong_ , Brienne finds herself speaking up for once. She can't hide how deeply affronted she is as she goes about setting him straight, fury wrought across her plain features.

Jaime half-laughs for a moment before he spits something biting back at her.

Before they know it, they’ve entered such a heated debate that the rest of their class can only watch the verbal tennis match, stifling awkward giggles at the intensity of their arguments. For a time, neither of them seems to be particularly aware of anyone else in the room. 

The professor lets it go on for longer than usual, perhaps because he’s always graded her papers with comments like, “ _A + work, Ms. Tarth. Your writing never ceases to amaze me. I only wish you would share some of these insightful thoughts with your peers during discussions once in a while_.”

Eventually though, he cuts them off and starts to call on other people. Jaime and Brienne silently glare at each other for the rest of the period. 

Jaime approaches her after class, his jaw set, seeming determined to continue the conversation.

“Look, Tarth, I see what you were _trying_ to say back there, but you’re living in a bloody fantasy world if you think that wishy-washy philosophy has any real world weight!”

His eyes are sparkling with annoyance and passion and a part of her wants to spit back at him, but she notices people staring at them and thinks back to all the horrible things he’s said to her over the years and she just wants this conversation to _end._

A guy like that will never change, no matter what argument she gives him.

He's not worth her time.

She attempts to push past him without answering, but he's not ready to give up. 

“You just view the world in such a black and white way. Real life doesn’t _work_ like that. Real _people_ don’t work like that! No one is that bloody good, Tarth. No one. You’re so....you’re so.. _._  Well...naive, is the _polite_ word for it,” Jaime was saying as he jogs backwards down the hall, trying to keep ahead of her.

“If you don’t get out of the way, I’m going to knock you out with my economics textbook,” she says flatly, holding it up to show him the huge size of it.

Jaime looks her up and down, and takes a step back. She’s taller than him. Not by much, perhaps, but he also knows she’s in the boxing club and does mixed martial arts. He gives her muscular arms a glance and takes half a step back.

“Fine. Stay ignorant,” he says, looking almost disappointed.

He turns around and heads in the opposite direction.

______

 ** **  
**** In Studio Art the following semester, he scowls at his shitty painting, throwing down his brush and saying “This blasted thing is even uglier than you, Tarth.”

He laughs his golden head off when she overturns a can of blue paint on his head, making her angrier than _ever._

“Okay. I deserved that. I definitely deserved that,” he says, green eyes bright and alive, still chuckling as he wipes paint off his face and out of his hair.

After he's wiped off most of the paint, he glances at her still life and says, “You know, you’re actually a pretty good artist. I like the way you did the shadowy bit there. It really makes it jump off the page. Mine looks like the worst piece in a second grader's portfolio.”

Brienne grunts and turns her back on him.  

She feels his eyes on her for a long moment before he finally picks up his paintbrush again. 

 ** **___________****  
  
In  Medieval Studies, first semester of junior year, Jaime overhears her shyly telling Renly Baratheon that she collects swords and is quite good at using them.

He looks _utterly overjoyed_ and asks her what her favorite type to wield is, his gorgeous eyes sparkling with what can only be described as delight.

Brienne gapes at him. 

She thinks he must be messing with her. That this is some new, twisted ploy to ruin her life.

But when the professor explains their first assignment, Jaime throws his hand up to claim her as a partner.

He announces loudly, without so much as _consulting_ her, that they will be choreographing an authentic medieval sword fight together.

The professor claps her hands in delight and marks it down before Brienne can even comprehend what is happening, or deal with the absurdity of the idea that this haughty asshole could have such an unconventional hobby.

When they meet later that week to practice, Brienne is so confused by him _choosing_ her, as well as actually showing up on time for their appointment for once, that she is a lot more forceful with her blade than is strictly necessary.

She hits hard enough that she knows he’ll be bruised, but though he mutters ‘ _ouch_ ’ often and says ' _easy_ , girl' when she slashes at him a bit too wildly, there’s a sort of joyful glint in those emerald eyes she hasn’t ever seen before.

They get an A on the assignment and the professor asks them to come back next semester to give a repeat performance for her new class.  

Jaime agrees right away and gives her an enthusiastic high five in the hallway saying, "We blew every other team out of the _water_ , Tarth! Well done!" 

****______________** **

In Wine and Beer Appreciation, (a joke of a class, one credit, which she only signed up for because Renly goaded her into it, promising it would be _awesome_ ), Jaime makes his way over to her during the very first class.

She’s standing on her own because Renly and Loras are off giggling in a corner together, already tipsy from pre-gaming in their apartment.  

She feels awkward as hell standing there, because she doesn’t know anyone besides Renly and Loras, and is already thinking about withdrawing from the course.

She should have known she'd end up feeling like a third wheel. She’s also feeling stupidly embarrassed that she actually bothered to put effort into her outfit tonight and Renly’s barely even _looked_ at her. 

“What are you doing?” she asks Jaime suspiciously when he comes up to her holding two glasses of a locally-brewed craft beer and hands her one.

He shrugs. “Don’t know anyone else in this class. My drunk of a little brother made me sign up, and had to drop it at the last minute.”

They stand together awkwardly, sipping their beers.

Jaime mentions that he thinks they should go 'more dramatic' for the sword-fight they are planning for this semester’s Medieval Studies class.

He suggests getting together to practice soon.

Brienne agrees, though she doesn’t meet his eyes as she does.

Somehow it’s become even _more_ difficult to be around him over time, now that he’s toned down his insults and is almost... _nice_ to her sometimes.

She'd spent her whole life learning how to deal with taunts and cruelty, but this was something different and entirely unfamiliar. 

They sip their beers and listen to the professor's history of alcohol consumption throughout human history. Despite the awkwardness, Brienne's glad she at least has someone to stand with. 

She’s not sure which of them is more surprised when Jaime glances over at her during a pause in the discussion of ancient brewing techniques to mutter, “That's a nice sweater...Really brings out the color of your eyes.”

She drops her glass to the floor in shock at his words and his eyes widen like saucers as soon as he realizes what he’s said.

Half the class is staring at them.

They both bend down to pick up the shattered chunks and she mutters, “Thanks,” not sure if she’s expressing gratitude for the compliment or him helping her pick up the glass.

He shrugs, not looking up from the shards he’s collecting.

____

****

They get together a few of times to practice for their sword demonstration and Brienne has to admit that he is really, _really_ good at it. Without a doubt the best she’s ever sparred with.

She finds herself looking forward to the practices more and more each time.

Usually they end up powering through their choreographed moves pretty quickly, but he doesn't ever seem in a rush to leave so they usually end up smashing their swords together for a few hours afterwards, swiping at each other until they're both red-faced and huffing, eyes dancing with excitement. 

Sometimes they take breaks to hydrate. They sink down, backs against a wall and talk about the coolest swords they’ve seen, or compare notes on their favorite historical warriors.

When she goes on a tirade about Boudica, he rolls his eyes a lot, but he smiles as he does it.

It’s a weird smile, one she’s never seen him wear before. It’s definitely not mocking or cruel.

It’s almost...fond.

When she notices, she trails off from her recounting of a fierce battle, embarrassed.

“Sorry," she blushes. "I’m rambling,” 

“No,” he says firmly. “Keep going.”

So she does.

\---

One day after practice, as they’re packing up their gear, he says, “You know, Tarth, we should get together to spar once in awhile, even after this performance is over. You’ve got no small amount of skill, and ever since Arthur Dayne graduated there’s been no one else worth fighting at this school. ”

Reddening, she mumbles a “Yeah...okay” that is very blatantly noncommittal. She turns her back to him and stuffs her sweaty clothes into a gym bag.

When she finds the courage to look up again, she sees Jaime frowning at her.

When he notices her looking back at him, he shakes his head, shrugs and mutters a rather stiff, “Well, bye then.” before striding out of the gym.

Brienne watches him go, surprised by the intense longing that tugs at her, at the screaming desire to tell him to wait, that she _does_ want to spar with him, that she’ll do it any time, any day he wants.

_____

When Sansa somehow convinces her to come to the big party her sorority is throwing, Brienne feels nothing but dread. Those sweet blue eyes of hers could make the hardest heart agree to anything though and Brienne is about as soft-hearted as they come. She'd been a mentor to Sansa when she started college earlier that year, and though the freshman was stunning and charming and immediately made about a hundred friends, Sansa never fails to catch Brienne in the halls or on the quad to ask her how she's doing. 

So, despite it being the last thing in the universe she wanted to do, Brienne hadn't been able to say no. 

Brienne’s managed to avoid the frat and sorority types since moving out of the dorms after freshman year, and she loathes the thought of re-entering that vicious world, but she'd made a promise and she intends to keep it. She'll show her face, thank Sansa for the invite and hopefully slip away before anything too humiliating occurs.  

The night of the party, though she feels like she’s plunging into a pool full of ravenous sharks, Brienne shows up, wearing the most flattering blue dress she managed to find, which is not nearly flattering enough to make her feel like anything but an ungainly, towering freak.

All the other girls are wearing flowery little sundresses, their flowing locks shining and swaying as they dance and flirt. Brienne’s short hair hangs lankily on the sides of her head and she tries her best not to hunch over her shoulders like some neanderthal. 

It’s a waking nightmare.

She scans the room, praying that there will be someone here who isn’t a frat boy or sorority girl that she can talk to. To her relief, she spots Renly and Loras in a corner of one of the rooms.

They spot her and smile, then invite her over to join a confusing drinking game they've clearly been playing for a while. She spends the first part of the night pretending to drink shitty beer while the rest of them get loaded. By the time she joins, everyone is drunk enough not to police her alcohol intake, which she is grateful for, as she's never been a big drinker.

She looks around the room every so often and feels her stomach plummet when she sees Hyle Hunt, Edmund Ambrose and Big Ben standing in a corner, flirting with some of Sansa’s pledge sisters.

Memories of her freshman year and the cruel game those boys had decided to play with her while being initiated into to some obnoxious frat come flooding back, and she finds herself no longer pretending to drink with Renly and Loras.

She downs a beer quickly and crushes the red solo cup in her fist (pretending its Hyle’s head...Hyle who’d seemed the kindest of the lot, but had turned out to be just as much of a jerk as the others- more so, maybe, because he'd gained her trust and shattered it so thoroughly).

Tossing the mangled plastic aside, she reaches for another beer.

After a while, she breaks from the game to get some air (and because Renly and Loras are playing footsie under the table and keep accidentally dragging her into it).

Brienne goes into the backyard and sits under an oak tree in the dark part of the backyard, as far away from the noisy party as she can get, enjoying the night air and the quiet.

She leans against the tree, lost in sleepy, mildly inebriated thoughts. 

She snaps out of it when she hears a string of curses from across the yard. She looks up to see the silhouettes of two guys standing in the yard, both clutching their noses after clearly having hit each other in the face.

One of them recovers faster than the other, and moves to punch the other again. But two other male figures come forward and tackle him to the ground before he can do anything.

He attempts to get up, but they each kick him a few times in the ribs until he concedes defeat and slumps to the ground. They stand over him, mocking and laughing, though she can't make out the words. 

“ _What the hell are you doing_?” Brienne shouts, jumping to her feet and hurrying across the yard to them. It’s so dark that she can’t tell who it is until she’s only a few feet away. Her heart stops for a moment.

It’s _them_. Hyle, Ben and Edmund. They look up at her, dazed and drunk, and start to chuckle as realization of who she is dawns on them.

“Evening, Beauty,” Edmund laughs, pulling Hyle to his feet. “Good call, spending the night out here rather than forcing anyone in there to look at your horsey mug.”

“Shuddup, Ed,” she hears Hyle mumble. He’s got a white sleeve pressed to his nose, and even in the low light she can see blood spreading across it. "Let's just get out of here." 

Supporting Hyle between them, they turn to go back inside.

Brienne is torn between running after them to give them a piece of her mind (and maybe fist) and helping the poor wretch who is lying out in the grass.

Her compassion beats out her fury and she walks over to check on the figure who is groaning, face down on the dewy lawn.

“Are...are you alright?” she asks, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and turning him over. Her hand drops immediately. 

“ _Jaime_?” she asks, utterly shocked.

He blinks dazedly up at her, blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth.

“Bri... _Brienne_?” After a moment of confusion, he begins to laugh, somewhat hoarsely. His eyes are unfocused as he slurs, “Well, this iisss...ironic.”

“Ironic? What?” she asks, not understanding anything about this. She shakes her head, thinking it's best not to ask. “Jaime, can you sit up? Do you need me to get someo-”

“No,” he says, reaching up to clutch her arm, and pulling himself into an upright position. She gets a strong whiff of whiskey on his breath and knows the unfocused expression is not just from being punched. “Jusss.. sssttay here.”

His lip is bleeding heavily and he might have a black eye. She can’t tell in the low light.

“I should probably go look for something to treat-”

“No- not yet. Please,” he says, gripping her tighter.

“Alright,” she says, still so baffled she can hardly think straight. “Jaime what was th... _what_ _happened_?”

As far as she (with her admittedly limited social involvement) could tell, Jaime didn’t even _know_ those guys. At least not well enough that she could think of a reason for them to be fighting each other.

He’d probably gone and said something characteristically obnoxious to them, she guessed. Pushing buttons was his favorite activity, and in his drunkenness he'd probably pushed them too far.

She probably shouldn’t even be pitying him as much as she is right now. He probably deserved it...

“Nothing,” he mutters. “Those little shits just needed to learn a fucking lesson.”

Brienne lets out a shocked laugh before she can stop herself. She didn’t mean to laugh, but if his intent had been to ' _teach a lesson_ ' she was not quite sure it had been learned.

She can hear Ben and Ed laughing even from out here in the yard, probably regaling the other party-goers with the tale of how thoroughly they'd kicked Jaime Lannister's ass.

Jaime scowls at her laughter. “I’m sor-” she begins, but he is already shoving her away so he can get to his feet.

“Whatever. That’s the last time I bloody stick my neck out for _your_ honor,” he mutters scathingly and begins to stumble and sway his way across the yard.

Brienne’s jaw drops.

By the time she discerns the meaning of what he’s said, Jaime is halfway across the yard and back to the house, limping all the way.

“Jaime, wait!” she says, jogging to catch up to him. He is moving slowly and it doesn’t take long. “Did you just say...was that fight about _me_?”

He shrugs and looks away and she has her answer. She finds herself feeling sick with embarrassment. It had been a topic of great amusement throughout her dorm at the time, but she'd always hoped it hadn't spread beyond there, and that it would be a fuzzy memory to most people by now. 

“What did you...what did you hear?” she stammers.  “What were they _saying_?” How did he _know_?

Jaime whirls around to face her, green eyes flashing angrily. Perhaps he sees the panic and shame in her expression as she wonders what horrible things he might have heard them say, because his expression softens almost at once.

“Nothing, Brienne.  Just some tiny men saying foul things to stroke their own egos. Not worth repeating.”

He looks sad and disgusted and lost and much younger than he is.

“Oh,” she says softly, at a loss for words.

“You’ve...you've had to put up with a lot of shit from a lot of jerks in your time, haven’t you?” he says quietly, his expression sadder than she’s ever seen it.

She opens and closes her mouth, unable to form a response.

“And I’ve been chief among them," he mutters bitterly. He stares at her with such intensity is his green eyes that Brienne forgets to breathe. Finally, softly, he says, “I’m sorry.”  

“Er- it’s alright,” Brienne says, because he’s still bleeding from his lip. It isn't really. It shouldn't be. Some of the things he's said and done have been...

But he looks so _sincere_ and he's just utterly had his ass handed to him and though it doesn't make any logical sense, it would seem it was all for _her._

Jaime looks so genuinely sorry that she doesn’t have the heart to tell him she’s cried herself to sleep at least once a semester because of him, even though it's true.

“It’s alright,” she repeats.

“It’s not,” he says, reaching out to grasp her forearm tightly. “But I’m sorry, just the same.”

Brienne shrugs her hulking shoulders awkwardly. “You’ve...you’ve been loads nicer lately. Anyway, you should really let me take a look at that cut.”

“It’s fine,” he mumbles.

“It’s not,” she says, reaching out to graze her fingers across his split lip and surprising them both. He flinches. “Sorry. But you really should wash it out, at least.”

She had abruptly moved her fingertips away from his lip when he’d flinched, but now they are resting on his chin, just below his soft pink lips. She realizes it and drops them with a start.

“Fine,” he concedes. “Will you...will you help me find a bathroom? My head’s bloody sspppinning.”

“Sure,” she says.

They walk to the house and find that the number of partiers has doubled since she was last inside. They weave through the crowds, and Jaime slips his hand into hers to keep them together as she leads the way. She nearly jumps out of her skin when she first feels it, and immediately starts willing her palms not to sweat, before realizing he’s probably too drunk and sore to even notice if they do.

They find an unoccupied bathroom upstairs and Brienne locates a first aid kit while Jaime sits on the rim of the bathtub, dabbing at his cut with a piece of toilet paper and blinking down at all the blood that’s coming off on it.

Brienne dabs at it gently with a cotton swab and some alcohol, and when his strong hands grip at her shoulders when he’s feels the sting, she finds herself wondering, unbidden, what it would feel like to have those hands on other parts of her body.

 _It’s the alcohol_ , she tries to tell herself.  _I must be drunk._

 _You’ve had_ two _beers, and watching Jaime get the shit kicked out of him by Hyle and co. sobered you up quick enough._

“Thankss f’r bein’ m' nurse,” he mumbles when she’s done, patting her knee as she crouches beside him.

She blushes again. “Well, thanks for...beating up some assholes for me,” she says weakly, getting to her feet.

“For _trying_ to beat assholes up, you mean,” he says bitterly, taking the hand she offers to help him up.

He nearly falls into her even though she’d pulled him up very carefully and gently. One of his hands rests on her shoulder to steady himself, and she knows he’s drunker than she even realized.

“How much have you had to drink tonight, Jaime?” she asks, biting her lip and wanting to move his hand away because her dress only has thin straps and most of it is touching bare skin and setting her flesh aflame.

“Dunno,” he mumbles. “Got off the phone with my dad at 7:30. Pretty steadily since then,” he says.

She sees a lot of pain in those green eyes that are usually so haughty or arrogant or amused, and doesn’t know what to say. Now is not the time to ask, she thinks, but a part of her wonders what has him so upset, and wonders what it would be like to lay beside him under a layer of blankets as he whispered his secrets to her in the dark.

She wonders what it would be like to hold him tight against her and whisper that to him that it’s alright.

She wonders when she became so utterly insane.

This is _Jaime Lannister_  she’s thinking about. The guy who tormented her for two years straight and then some. The guy who went out of his way to make her life hell.

The guy who saved a seat for her in Political Science last week. The guy who'd seemed almost hurt when Brienne had done an abysmal job of pretending not to see him and slunk into a seat beside Sam Tarly instead.

The guy who had just tried to fight three dudes because they’d presumably said the same horrible stuff about her they always had. The guy who had overheard them and somehow decided that she was worth fighting for.

_It’s too much._

_It's ridiculous._

Her feelings for Renly had been pathetic enough, considering his obviously incompatible orientation, but these unwanted feelings stirring up were almost worse.

She has no reason to believe Jaime isn’t into women, yet every reason to believe he could never, ever be interested in a woman like her.

That shouldn't make her sad, but it does. 

“I think you've had enough partying for the night. I’d better walk you home,” she says briskly, tugging him out the bathroom door and into the hallway where at least three couples are making out. One of them stumbles into a bedroom, the curly-haired girl giggling as her boyfriend pulls her inside by the hand.

“I can...I can get there myself," Jaime says, tripping over his feet a little. "You don’t have to leave the party on account of-”

“Trust me, I’m happy for any excuse to get the hell out of here,” she says.

Jaime looks at her and even though he’s wasted, can probably see how much she means it.

“Not my scene either,” he mutters, stumbling as they walk through the crowded hallway. “Still, you live in the other direction. You don’t need to-”

“Your apartment’s not far. I really don’t mind,” she says. “Consider it a thank you for your noble attempt to teach them a lesson.”

She smiles at him, and he smiles back.

“Alright.”

She leads him carefully down the steps and out the front door, waving at a very surprised Sansa Stark as she goes.

They walk in companionable silence, with Jaime leaning on her for support. For once, she’s grateful for how big and strong she is compared to every other girl because he’s having a lot of difficulty keeping upright and if she were any less fit this would be a challenge indeed. 

Suddenly he stops and she almost trips.

“Wait...wait. This isn’t... right. If _you_ drop _me_ off, that means you’ve got to make your way home all alone,” he says, as if he’s just put the pieces of a very complex puzzle together.

“Um, yes,” she says, perplexed. “We’ve covered this, Jaime. It’s alright. I don’t live that far. And I can take care of myself.”

He chuckles softly, leaning into her, his breath grazing hot across her neck, making goosebumps rise on her flesh despite the warmth of the night.

“Mmmm,” he mumbles into the nape of her neck, his lips moving against her skin. “I don’t doubt that. Still...not very chivalrous of me...”

“I think you’ve filled your chivalry quota for the night,” she says, edging away from him somewhat stiffly.

He’s too close.

That swirl of cologne with his natural musk smells too good.

His golden hair is too soft as it brushes against her skin.

They fall quiet again and walk the next few blocks to his place. She knows where it is, because she picked him up there once so they could work on a project, which is convenient because she’s not sure he’d be able to lead the way on his own. He's...pretty far gone.

She helps him up the stairs to his apartment and they reach his door. He fumbles with the keys and after watching in polite frustration for a spell, she eventually takes over for him.

When she finishes and swings his door open, he reaches out for her arm again, gripping her tightly, “Hey. Tarth. What classes are you taking next semester?”

“Oh,” she says, startled. “I haven’t... really decided yet. Maybe that criminal justice course...and I’ve been hearing good stuff about forensics...why?”

He shrugs. “Wanna make sure we’ve got some of the same classes this fall...it’d be almost weird if we didn’t, at this point, wouldn't it? It’ll be our last year after all.”

She can’t believe these mumbles she’s hearing. She doesn’t even know how to respond.

“That’s a nice dress,” he says, and reaches out to tug at the thin strap absentmindedly, making her jump about a foot. “Blue...”

“Thanks,” she mutters, gently prying his fingers off the strap and taking a step back. “Um, you’d better get to bed. We’re supposed to meet at 10 tomorrow to rehearse our fight. We can push it back though, if you want. You’ll probably need sleep, after-”

“No,” he says firmly, the most cognizant he’s been all night. “I’ll be there.”

“Okay. Goodnight, Jaime.”

“Night, Brienne,” he says, and stumbles in the door.

She walks away, down the stairs and onto the empty streets. The loudest sound is the pounding of her own heart.  

_____

After they perform for the Medieval Studies class and the professor dismisses them, they move into the hallway, both grinning widely.

“That was _wicked_ ,” Jaime grins. “A bloody standing ovation. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Me either,” Brienne gushes.  “That went better than any of our practices ever! And the way that room projected the sound was incredible. The clanging was just so loud! It was all just so...fluid. Amazing.”

“I know. Brilliant.” Jaime says, holding up his hand for a high five.

Their palms come together with a mighty slap but after a few moments of cheesy grinning, the delight starts to fade and awkwardness begins to sink in, Brienne’s instincts to flee start kicking in too.

“Well, I guess I’ll see yo-”

“Wait,” Jaime says, before she can finish. “What are you doing right now?”

“Um. Standing in a hallway, talking to-”

“ _No_ , you bloody...” he says, half-angry, half-amused. “I mean, do you have any plans for the rest of the day?”

“I...” she says, hardly daring to believe where he’s going with this.

_Say yes. Say you’ve got to...you’ve got to...to..._

“No. Not really,” her mouth says, betraying her brain. 

“Oh,” he says, pleasantly surprised. “Well, do you want to grab a coffee or something? To celebrate? My treat.”

Brienne’s words stick in her throat and all she can do is nod in agreement.

_This can’t be happening._

_But it is._

Jaime is smiling broadly and leading the way out the building and her heart is pounding harder in her chest than it ever has before.

****_______** **

This is _nice,_ Brienne can’t help but think as she licks a little bit of whipped cream off her straw.  

She hopes she hasn’t dribbled any on her chin because Jaime seems to be staring pretty hard in that general direction right now and she can’t think of any other reason he would be looking at her so intently.

That’s a step up from the old Jaime at least, who would have guffawed at her inability to eat like anything other than the beast she was.

Embarrassed, she grabs a napkin and dabs blindly at the corners of her mouth, though when she glances down at it, it’s clean.

And he's still staring. She tries to ignore it because it's making her self-conscious and she doesn't want to spoil this with her insecurities. 

This is really _nice._

She’s never done this before. Gone for coffee with a boy. She knows it’s only friendly, knows it doesn’t mean anything more, but even the judgmental looks she gets from the barista can’t bring her down because it's so _nice_.

The girl who’d sneeringly made their drinks might be as baffled as Brienne is about why such a gorgeous man like him would be here with an ugly, hulking girl like her, but he is and that’s all that really matters.

Jaime _wants_ her here with him. She knows even if it doesn’t mean anything like...like _that_ , it at least isn’t some cruel joke or anything ill-intentioned.

Jaime, for whatever reason, has decided he likes her.

He’s here with her and he’s happy about it. They’re talking and joking like friends.

It’s _nice._

And it ought to be enough for her, but somehow she finds herself wishing for more.

Wishing to play footsie with him under the table like Loras and Renly are always doing. She wants him to reach across the table and take her hands in his and stare into her eyes with his gorgeous green ones like they do in the movies and she hates herself for not being satisfied with what she has.

Which is _nice_.

Jaime tells her hilarious stories about his little brother’s antics that make her almost snort whipped cream all over the place.

He tells her about the museums he went to in Europe last summer, and the swords he got to see there.

She tells him what classes she’s signed up for for next semester, and he fist pumps when he realizes they have two of the same classes, and tells her she's going to need to help him with calc because he hates math.

She tells him about the time she beat the crap out of Big Ben in front of the entire girls’ dance team and Jaime laughs so hard that tears leak out of his green eyes and the other patrons stare at them.

“That’s just....I can’t even...Oh what I wouldn’t give to have witnessed that!” he laughs, wiping away some tears. Then he quiets down and shakes his head. “Bloody foolish of me to bother trying to defend you, eh? You’re clearly entirely capable of looking after yourself.”

Brienne blushes and smiles. “I...well, yes. But I appreciate the gesture all the same.”

They smile at each other for a minute, Brienne’s blush creeping all the way down her neck. Eventually the fond look they’re exchanging reaches an awkward length, and they look away at the same time, taking sips of their drinks. She can feel Jaime tapping his foot under the table.

****  
_______** **

He insists on walking her home. She got him home the other night, he says, and if he was less wasted, he would have protested a lot more about that.

 _If you were less wasted_ , she’d said, _I wouldn’t have felt such a need to do it. If I_ hadn’t _helped, you would’ve probably curled up under a parked car and stayed there for the night._

 _Still_ , he’d insisted, grinning. _It isn’t fair. I need to even the score. Regain my lost honor._

Brienne agrees because he looks so determined, and because she’s never been walked home before and wants to know what it’s like, even if this wasn’t a real date or anything.

When they get to her doorway, there’s another awkward pause.

“Well, um, thanks for the coffee,” she says in a rush.

“No problem," he says. "Thanks for joining me. And for that story about kicking Ben's ass. There's a tale that will warm me on the darkest of days.”

More silence. Jaime seems to be staring right past her, at the door she has her back to. 

“Uh, didn’t you once say you had a really cool antique broadsword?" he asks. "Something your dad inherited?”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah I did,” she says, a little confused at him bringing it up so out-of-the-blue.

“Is it...do you keep it here? At school?” he asks, shuffling his feet. 

“Yeah, it’s hanging up in my room.”

Jaime waits, looking expectant, but she’s not sure what he’s expecting.

Then he heaves a rather impatient sigh and asks, “Can I see it?”

“Oh! Uh, sure. Yeah. Come in,” Brienne says, turning the key and leading him inside.

****______** **

It’s only after she’s already opened the door to her bedroom that she realizes what a mess it is, and cringes in shame. He follows right behind her though, and there’s no time to do anything about it.

She notices a pair of underwear, the only pink thing she owns, lying on the floor next to the hamper. She lets out an embarrassed squeak and kicks them under her dresser.

She knows from the twitching of his lips that Jaime noticed and is terribly amused, but he’s kind enough not to say anything about it.

Instead, he glances at the cork board hanging above her bed, and the kid's drawing tacked up to it.

“ _Me and Brienne_?” Jaime says, reading the childish scrawl and looking at the picture that depicts an impossibly tall blonde stick figure and a little boy, both of whom are holding swords.

“Oh,” she smiles. “I do one of those Big Brothers and Sisters programs where you mentor kids in tough situations. Pod’s this sweet boy I work with. We take fencing lessons together on Saturdays at the Y."

“Oh,” Jaime says, smiling. “Well, he’s certainly got a good partner to learn with, though I hope you’re a bit kinder to him than you are to _me_ when we fight. You know, you’re not supposed to _actually_ hit me when we’re doing a demonstration,” he says, gesturing to the spot on her arm where she’d whacked him with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry. You left it wide open. I got...carried away,” she says, grinning sheepishly.

“It’s alright. Now, let’s see this sword of yours.”

She takes the sword off the wall, and holds it out to Jaime.

Just before she’s about to place it in his hands, she panics and pulls it back a little. “Be really, _really_ careful with it,” she says, because its her most prized possession.

“Don’t worry. I _know_ how to treat a priceless sword,” he laughs. She hands it over.

He stares at it admiringly for a long time, not saying a word.

She lets him for a while, because sometimes there’s nothing so nice as having silence as you examine a beautiful sword, but eventually she cracks and starts talking about its history, filling him in on all the battles and owners the steel had seen.

When she finishes, he says, “That is seriously cool. I’ll have to show you my favorite sword sometime. Its history isn’t as rich as this... but it is a bit prettier.”

She scowls at that comment and tries to snatch it back. 

“ _What_?” he cries, holding it out of her reach. “I’m just being honest. This is a fantastic blade... I’m just saying, mine is a bit more ornate. That doesn't make it bett-.”

“Whatever,” she says stiffly. “Give it back so I can put it away.”

“Okay,” he says, moving it towards her.

Then, with a brief flash of a wicked grin, he lets it drop about three inches. He catches it right away, and there was never a real danger of it falling, but Brienne’s eyes nearly pop out of her head.

Jaime laughs, and she hits him hard in the arm.

“ _Not_ funny, Jaime. Give it back.”

She grabs for it, and he moves it out of her reach. Scowling, she makes another attempt at snatching it and he moves it behind his back.

Before long, they are wrestling for it, and Brienne is mostly angry, but can’t help being a little bit amused by his infectious chuckling.

When she wrenches it out of his grasp at last, she lets out a sigh of relief, holding it behind her back so he can’t get to it, breathing hard from exertion.

His body is pressed flush against hers, still trying to reach for the sword, and she reaches up with her free hand to push him back. She rests her palm against his chest, fully intending to shove him back.

But then his lips are pressed hard against hers and both of his hands are on the sides of her face, fingers running through her hair as he leans into her. 

She drops the sword with a thundering clang.

“ _No_!” she shouts in horror.

“Fuck!” Jaime shouts, jumping up and holding his foot, which the steel had fallen on.

“Are you alright?” she asks, eyes wide.

“Is THAT alright?” he asks, bending down to inspect the sword.

She bends down beside him and checks out the blade thoroughly.

“Yes,” she breathes. “Yes. I think its fine. Yes. It’s fine.”

She slides it across the floor away from them and turns to face him.

“Why did you...why did you _do_ that?” she stammers, because she can’t even begin to say the word kiss or comprehend that it had actually just happened.

Jaime shrugs.

“Because I’ve wanted to for ages...probably from the moment you yelled at me in front of our entire philosophy class," he says with a sheepish grin. "Though I still think you were wrong about that stuff,” he adds, shaking his head. 

Brienne is still staring at him, her brain struggling to process it all.

Then he looks down, embarrassed. “I had to do it. I’m sorry if I was out of line. I know I should have ask-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, because she’s seizing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him towards her furiously.

Their mouths meet in a crash and then she’s kissing him desperately and clumsily, because she’s got next to no experience with this, but he doesn’t seem to mind because after a brief moment of surprise he’s kissing her back with just as much fervor and enthusiasm.

They kiss for ages on her bedroom floor. Brienne could never have imagined there were so many ways to kiss and be kissed.

She learns how good teeth can feel biting at her bottom lip, and what it's like for tongues to meet and graze across teeth. She learns that kisses can be soft or hard, gentle or violent, tender or ferocious, and she thinks that each one is fantastic and she wants to spend the rest of her days finding out what combinations they can come in. 

He sucks at her neck and bites at it, and she groans beneath his mouth and realizes he must be leaving marks. Then she laughs because she’s having lunch with Renly and Loras tomorrow and they will probably lose their shit when they see their shy, virginal friend covered in hickeys.

Jaime pulls back when he hears her giggling, and looks mildly offended, asking “What’s so funny?”

But she just shakes her head and dives at his neck to give him some love-bites of his own, so that at least she won’t be the _only_ one being interrogated and getting shit tomorrow.

After a while, when she’s lying on top of him trailing kisses along his neck and sucking at his collarbone, Jaime gives her a little push off of him.

“Look, Brienne,” he says, gasping for breath. “This is...this is _incredible_ but I...I need to take a break here. Um. Cool down a bit.”

He glances down at his crotch briefly and Brienne’s eyes widen as she realizes what he’s saying. Her confusion turns to softness as she understands what a gentleman he’s being, or trying to be.

He must be aware of how inexperienced she is, and he’s right in thinking that as lovely as all this kissing is, she’s not ready to move past it just yet.

He seems content with waiting, but she allows herself a brief flicker of a look at his pants and notices a very obvious bulge there. She feels a wave of giddiness wash over her. 

“Okay,” she says, smiling softly, still marveling at the fact that the Jaime who had made her sob herself to sleep in her first week of college is in her room right now, being considerate and kind and panting hotly as he tries to get his body under control. “That’s fine. D’you..do you want to go, um,  watch TV or something?”

“Yeah,” he says, breathing raggedly. “Yeah okay.”

****_____** **

They sit on the couch, watching some shitty sitcom.  His arm is around the small of her back, his hand resting on her hip. Jaime makes bitchy, sarcastic comments at every other line, but Brienne can’t concentrate on a word the characters or Jaime is saying.

She’s still too overwhelmed with feeling at the fact that she just _made out with Jaime Lannister_ on her bedroom floor for half an hour. And that they’re cuddling on the couch now.

_It can’t be real._

And yet the slow circles he’s tracing on her hipbone are more real than the beating of her own heart.

When the first commercial break comes on, Jaime says, “Oh, fuck it,” and turns to her, pushing his lips up against hers. His tongue darts forward before she even has the chance to react and he’s pushing her backwards with one hand so he’s laying on top of her on the couch.

He does his best to keep his crotch from grinding against her too much, but he’s not always successful. Every time it does, she jumps and blushes but tries to just keep going.

A small part of it is intimidating, but mostly she’s just awed to realize that he is _attracted_ to her. Jaime Lannister is attracted to her, and making out with her and doing his best not to grind his erection against her thighs, because he’s trying to be respectful as they kiss each other madly and sloppily and lovingly. 

_________

They fall asleep on the couch together to the sounds of Jaime trash talking TV shows, and wake up smiling.

They go for breakfast at the local diner that morning, and Jaime steals food off her plate and laughs when she slaps his hand away.

After that, they decide to 'study' for their Poli-Sci final together. Pages are literally ripped out of her textbook as they roll around on top of it, kissing hungrily, not learning a damn thing. 

_____

Renly laughs his head off when he sees the hickeys. After he stops cackling, he smiles softly and congratulates her and threatens Jaime with bodily harm if he doesn’t do right by Brienne.

Sansa mutters something about her strange taste but hugs her happily just the same.

________

The following week, Jaime invites her to visit him at Lake Casterly over the summer.

She agrees to spend a week at the Lannister vacation home and spends her last weeks of school daydreaming about swimming in the lake with him and getting to know his brother Tyrion around a roaring campfire. He agrees to come visit her where she’s living this summer, interning at a historical museum. She thinks the big city will be less lonely and intimidating with him by her side. 

 _______

Exam results come in and Brienne gets her first B grade ever in Political Science, and blames it all on Jaime.

He shrugs unapologetically and shows her his C+.

________

She’s always taken a cab to the airport to fly back home, but this time Jaime drives her. They spend so much time kissing in the departures lounge that she almost misses her flight and when she’s on the plane she starts calculating the number of days until she goes to his lake house.

43\. 43 days. 

Jaime is so busy doing the same in his head, that he almost crashes his car on the way home.

He texts her about it, and she receives the message when they land. She lets out such a loud, shocked laugh that she startles the old man sitting beside her.

 _“Be careful, idiot.”_ she writes back and hits send.

She's just about to slip her phone back into her bag, when she pulls it out again to write another message.

" _I miss you.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was ridiculously fluffy...
> 
> I would love any and all feedback! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!


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